


Blood Trails

by ThisAz1an



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Adventure, Angst, F/F, Fluff, Maybe - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Some angst, Violence and Battle, not a whole lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:14:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22139149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisAz1an/pseuds/ThisAz1an
Summary: Legends come and go. Their tales told and told again, embellished or not. However, none will ever know the trails they've blazed throughout their journeys.This will follow the story from Origins to the Inquisition.
Relationships: Female Cousland/Leliana (Dragon Age), Female Hawke/Isabela, Female Hawke/Merrill, Female Inquisitor/Josephine Montilyet, Leliana/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Blood Trails

The Templar earlier was not lying. Lothering’s sole tavern was practically full to bursting with a crowd mixed of weary locals and anxious refugees. Both simply trying to find a slight reprieve at the bottom of a cup, to find some light in the darkest of truth: The Darkspawn horde would be upon them soon. Some locals were taking their chances with trying to “outrun” the Blight while the refugees were desperately searching for safe passages out of Ferelden. Personally, she believed the refugees had the better idea—to leave the country all together rather than trying to survive monstrous army. 

Eliza couldn’t blame them.

Barely a week has passed and news regarding the events that transpired in Ostagar had spread throughout Thedas like wildfire. No doubt it was Loghain Mac Tir who has spread the news of the Grey Wardens’ “betrayal” loud and clear. From what Flemeth had told them, the _Hero of River Dane_ denounced the Wardens’ heroic reputation and branded them all as traitors to the Ferelden crown. If the country was not occupied with trying to survive the Blight, they might’ve offered any survivors like scapegoats to Loghain themselves. The Grey Wardens were to take the blame of one man’s ambition to rule all of Ferelden and cease any peaceful relations with Orlais. It was daunting to see how easily the hearts and minds of her countrymen were swayed from the influence of one man’s word. How easy it seemed to toss countless, innocent lives to the wolves. It was as if they had that those same, _innocent_ lives were given to end one Blight after another, facing unbelievable horrors; ensuring Thedas’ safety and future from unfathomable destruction.

It fazed Eliza none. The years of her teenage-hood had been spent onboard her grandfather’s ship, where betrayal was common. All men and women grew greedy at some point in their lives, it would be at the behest of their morality whether to take a grab at it or not. Nonetheless, Eliza worked her way through the crowd, pardoning herself whenever the pommel of her sword would bump against any unsuspecting patrons. Some whirled about, ready to give her a tongue lashing. However, it only took one good look of her, they’d mutter their own apologies and avert their gaze.

It dawned on Eliza when they had arrived in Lothering, that she and Alistair—apart from Morrigan—would be the only other strangers within a small village of frightened citizens and refugees who appear to be armed and capable enough to handle a battle or two. In Eliza’s personal case, her appearance didn’t come forth as “friendly.” She had the “look” of a mercenary, that’s for sure. She had a few, visible battle scars that certainly deterred any chance of coming toward as “diplomatic.” 

The Warden found an empty table tucked in the corner, away from peering eyes. She unhooked her sword from its strap and placed it on top of the table. Sitting on one of the chairs, Eliza sighed in relief and leaned back against the chair.

A few weeks—it only took a few weeks for her life to suddenly turn upside down. Eliza loved her family dearly, even if she spent some time away from them out in the sea. She was _still_ the youngest child of House Cousland, youngest daughter to Bryce and Eleanor Cousland, and heiress to Highever. Whether Fergus survived Ostagar or not, she had promised to fulfill her mother’s last wish: avenge House Cousland and bring justice upon Howe. As much as Eliza wanted to mourn for her family…her current situation was not going to be merciful. 

_An orphaned heiress and her Warden colleague making a merry band of willing heroes to save a country from an impending doom of human extinction,_ Eliza scoffed at the thought, tilting her head back, and stared at the wooden ceiling above. How tempting it would to simply run back to the seas, chasing the horizon, drowning in rum, and enjoying the thrill of—

_“Hello.”_

Eyes flew open, grey-storm irises glimmering with bewilderment, before Eliza seats herself upright.

The woman seated across from her was strikingly beautiful, with a fair hair of red, milky white complexion, an ocean of blue in those eyes, and perfectly full lips. Even the modesty of the Chantry robes could not hide the air of mystery and intrigue about the Sister. Those same, alluring lips flashed a warm, friendly smile.

The warrior had the sensible thought to come back to her senses before she was caught ogling. Although, the mirth twinkling in the Sister’s blue eyes already said as much.

“Good day, Sister,” Eliza returned the smile, grateful that her voice remained true and steady.

The Sister’s smile widened. “Thank you, I hope I did not mean to intrude if you wanted privacy.”

“None taken, Sister. It is always a blessing to be graced with the Chantry’s presence, especially in these dire times.”

The woman had a certain charm about her, one that would certainly turn many heads, and no doubt the Sister has already turned countless of them. And her _voice_ , the accent. There was no mistaken it was Orlesian.

Eliza recalled some of the summer months she spent within Orlesian seas. She heard enough to discern their familiar accents. She found it odd that an Orlesian woman would be here, in Ferelden, in the small town of Lothering. A far cry from the luxuries of Val Royeaux. The Sister had successfully approached her without alerting her and only someone of skill and training of a bard could manage that. There was a story behind the mysterious Sister and Eliza wondered if she would get the chance to learn the truth.

“So, what has brought you here, Sister?” Eliza inquired, while waving down one of the bar maidens to bring them drinks.

“Ah, forgive me, I had forgotten my manners,” a pink blush glows from the Sister’s cheeks. “My name is Leliana and I am a lay sister of Lothering’s Chantry.”

 _Ah, so she has not taken her vows yet,_ Eliza noted.

A bar maiden stepped in for a moment, placing a pair of mugs, and bowl of fruits before leaving to cater to another customer. Eliza bowed her head slightly as a silent “thank you,” before reaching for one of the mugs. “You may call me Eliza. Is there something you need of me, Leliana?”

The lay sister bit her lower lip, contemplating her next words. It did not take long until the sister confessed her inner thoughts.

“I wish to join the Grey Wardens.” 

The statement made Eliza halt in mid-sip.

_Wait, she couldn’t possibly mean—_

“I wish to join your cause, Warden.”

Blinking, Eliza set her mug of ale down on the table. When the Chantry Sister had approached her, she had thought of one outcome: This woman could’ve been an assassin—hired by Loghain—to ensure that those who knew the truth of his treachery would not spread to others. Then again, the infamous _Hero of River Dane_ couldn’t possibly hire an Orlesian bard. He _despised_ Orlesians. He also couldn’t possibly know of her and Alistair’s survival. They had _just_ emerged from the depths of the Korcari Wilds.

Though, one question piqued her interest.

“Join the Wardens?” Eliza asked. “Did they not die in Ostagar?”

Leliana raised one, delicate brow in question. “Truly? Yet, one sits before me.”

She shrugged. “Never once mentioned I was a Warden, dear sister.” 

The red-haired Sister was silent for several moments, to which Eliza took the chance to reach for the fruit bowl and grab a couple of grapes. She munched on a couple of them as she waited for the Sister’s response.

Eventually, Leliana spoke. “This may sound…crazy to you then.”

After meeting the legendary Flemeth herself, Eliza thought nothing could top that off. “Humor me.” 

“Well, I had a vision, from the Maker Himself,” Leliana began. “You were in it, dressed in Grey Warden armor, and you were standing before the darkness that would consume this world.”

Eliza blinked. She never fancied herself as a devout believer to the Maker or Andraste, despite her family’s stance on the religion. She prayed and paid her respects to the faithful when the opportunity arose. The only extraordinary experiences she had encountered were drunken pirates often spewing the exaggerated tales of monstrous, sea creatures that come from the deep depths of the ocean. How the sea could even betray the most skillful of captains if they’re not careful. Though most were tall tales, she had personally seen one or two herself when she had served as her Grandfather’s apprentice. However, never have she ever heard of the _Maker_ himself—reaching to the mind of a lay sister—and conveying his wisdom onto her.

Even _that_ seemed like a tall tale.

“A vision from the Maker himself? Really?”

“It’s true! I—” Leliana suddenly halted herself, a hand quickly flying upward to cover her mouth. Another burst of a pink blush streaked across her face. She took a brief moment to gather herself before speaking once more, more softly this time. “My apologies for the outburst. No one has believed me about my vision, not even the Mother of the Chantry I serve under.”

Eliza waved a hand dismissively. “These are desperate times, sister. I understand that most of the country are constantly praying to the Maker to be spared of an awful fate from the Blight.”

Leliana nodded, a glimmer of determination set in her eyes. “Please, Warden. I truly believe I can help your fight against the Blight. I can’t sit idly by while the world is being destroyed.”

Eliza thought about it. Did she had any right to refuse the helping hand of another person who wanted to help her end this war against the Darkspawn? Not just the Darkspawn, but even the Ferelden Crowd itself? The throne may be empty for now, but she had no doubt Loghain was doing his damnedest to seize it for himself. Even if her reason seemed…unbelievable. Morrigan would surely scoff and inquire whether she had one too many knocks to the skull.

 _We_ do _need all the help we can get…_

Alistair had made the habit of looking toward her for the decision making in their merry-band. It was a slight annoyance, but then again, when it comes to leadership, Eliza was far more experienced between them both. It wasn’t that she was against _leading_ a random group of strangers, but the decent thing her fellow Warden could’ve done was ask her opinion about it. A freshly-faced Warden trying to fill the impossible deeds of a recently decimated organization known to gather allies from all corners of the country? Quite a tall order.

 _“Stand down! Stand._ Down. _By the order of General Loghain himself!”_

Eliza was snapped out of her reverie from the sudden ruckus, as she turned her head toward the source of her noise.

In the center of the crowded tavern, three, heavily armored men stood with their swords unsheathed. They had them lowered, though it still gave them the opportunity to strike anyone if they got ‘too close.’ Eliza spotted the familiar insignia on their chest plate that showed whom their allegiance belonged to and revenge reared its furious gaze.

They may not have been personally involved, but they were still a part of Loghain’s command. They had left their King and many innocents to die and believed their General’s words of the Grey Wardens’ “treachery.” A thought occurred to her: What were Loghain’s men doing here in Lothering? The small village was about to be overrun by the Darkspawn by the week’s end, and yet here they were, terrorizing already terrified villagers and travelers.

Unconsciously, Eliza stood from her seat and reached for the grip of her sword. Within the same moment, she felt a hand pressing against the sleeve of her coat. She flicked her gaze toward the pale, slender hand before lifting her eyes to its owner’s. 

“These men have been searching for Wardens,” Leliana’s tone was hush. “Those that could have possibly survived Ostagar.”

Eliza felt her blood boil at the words. It wasn’t enough that the entirety of the Ferelden Grey Wardens had been destroyed by the Darkspawn. She hadn’t the luxury nor the time to have gotten to know the men and women who wanted to serve the honorable role of being a Warden, nor did she ever to learn more of Duncan. Yet, every human, elvhen, dwarven, and mage all chose to play a part in saving Ferelden from an unimaginable terror. Loghain was deranged by his hatred to ensure that _not a single soul_ lived to tell the tale of his betrayal. Eliza felt the leather of her gloves creak as her hand gripped the handle of her sword tighter. 

The movement of her sword arm didn’t escape the red-head sister’s notice.

“Warden, I know this may be hard for you,” Leliana implored softly. “But please, ignore these men. There is no need to shed any more blood. You do not need to garner Loghain’s attention. Stay your blade for the next battle in your journeys.”

The lay sister had the right idea. Loghain had _no_ inclination she and Alistair survived his massacre, plucked from the Tower of Ishal by Flemeth’s intervention. It had given them the element of surprise whenever fate would give them the chance to face the traitorous snake. Doubtfully it would be soon, but no matter what, Denerim is going to be one of their stopping points along their quest and that would put her and Alistair within Loghain’s vicinity. Leliana spoke the truth; fighting these men wouldn’t make a difference nor avenge the lives that were taken in Ostagar.

Sighing softly, the warrior softened her hold on her sword, though only slightly. “What about the locals?” She jerked her head toward the gathered, frightened people in the tavern. “Loghain’s men aren’t exactly known to be merciful.”

Leliana glanced over her shoulder before giving a small, reassuring smile. “I will talk to them. I’ve been told I can be quite…convincing.”

Funny enough, Eliza almost believed her. Diplomacy can go through many leagues of stubbornness with the right words, although, she doubted it would work with Loghain’s men. They were just as ruthless and unforgiving, much like their esteemed leader. After mulling it over for a few, more moments, she withdrew her sword arm. The sister was right, could she really risk getting spotted now when they have the element of surprise against Loghain in the long run? If she fought his men now, what point would that prove?

 _“You’re a Warden now,”_ Duncan’s words echoed in her thoughts. _“Whoever you were before, whatever business you had, you’ll have to set it aside. The Blight won’t wait for you to settle your personal matters while its slowly swallowing the world, as we speak.”_

Swallowing her pride, Eliza nodded. “Alright, Leliana. I’ll—”

_“Sir! Please!”_

Both Eliza and Leliana whip their heads toward the crowd once more.

The leader of the group had grabbed one of the locals, with one arm cocked and ready to bring a fist down upon the poor soul unfortunate enough to be within arm’s reach of Loghain’s men. Every bone and muscle in her body screamed for her to _move_ , but the lay sister—once more—has her restrained with a hand pressed against her chest. Leliana passed her a knowing look before walking past her and quickly making her way toward the armored soldiers.

Eliza watched as the sister left her. She felt her body visibly withholding every instinct to go against the sister’s suggestion and just simply… _fight_. She didn’t want to be helpless anymore, to just standby and watch as lives were lost, to see innocent people come into harm’s way just because they were on the same path as a bloodthirsty, ambitious, crazed man.

 _Howe. Loghain. And whoever else…_ Eliza thought, as she kept her eyes solely focused on the red-haired sister.

She watched as Leliana meandered her way around the crowd and approached the soldiers. The sister raised her hands, to show she was of no threat to Loghain’s men. From here, she could not hear the words being exchanged, but Eliza could see her lips moving. No doubt trying to ease the ruthless behavior these soldiers were about to set upon the innocent locals. However, just as she had imagined, Loghain’s men weren’t going to listen as one of them stepped forward and threateningly loomed over Leliana.

Eliza reached for her mug and downed its liquid content in one swig. Releasing a huff of breath, she wiped the back of her hand along her mouth as she slowly made her toward Leliana and Loghain’s men.

The now empty mug still in her grasp.

_I’ll make sure every single traitorous bastard pays._

_One bar brawl later…_

_“Hold still.”_

Despite being told so, Eliza flinched at the sensation of a cold, icy touch against the bruised flesh of her cheek. The reaction was not out of pain, rather out of surprise.

Leliana let out a soft sigh, as she gently prod and pressed the cold, damp bundled cloth against the Warden’s afflicted cheek.

“I cannot blame you for intervening, given they were very rude,” Leliana began. “However, I had it handled.”

Eliza flashed a small smile. “If someone had told me a lay sister knew how to fight, I would have very much let you ha— _ah!_ ”

The red-haired lay sister let out a soft _tsk_. “Loghain’s men will surely tell their commander of you and Alistair’s survival now,” she handed her the damp cloth. “Hold this.”

The Warden opened her mouth to retort but opted for silence instead. Leliana was rather put off with her at the moment and it would be in her best interest if she did not irk the very person applying medical aid. She did as she was told, gingerly pressing the icy, damp cloth against her bruised cheek while Leliana knelled before her. In the lay sister’s hand was a poltice, an ointment meant to ensure cuts and wounds didn’t fester or become infected.

Leliana gathered a generous dollop on her forefinger and began to rub the solution against the cut on her temple. “Turn your head slightly, please.”

Eliza complied, though watched the red-haired sister from the corner of her eyes. It looked as if the lay sister didn’t have a single scratch on her. Then again, she had ensured all three of Loghain’s men had their complete attention on her. It left Leliana to her own devices and she did not disappoint.

“So, I did not shed any blood, per se,” Eliza stated. “I stayed my blade, as you had requested of me. Does the good sister believe I have behaved accordingly?”

Leliana let out an amused huff, shaking her head gently. " _Incroyable_. I suppose I should give you credit for not killing anyone, _however_ ,” she gave her a playful glare. “You still picked a fight.”

“It was in my best intention to protect you, dear sister.”

“Loghain will surely send people after you now.”

Eliza shrugged. “And we’ll best them.”

Leliana placed the lid back on the poultice’s container and looked at her straight in the eyes. “Your confidence is certainly inspiring.”

“I _am_ a Warden,” Eliza smirked. “Is it not my duty to inspire others to join the fight against all evils?”

“You are incorrigible.”

“ _Merci._ ”

By the time Alistair and Morrigan had found her, she and Leliana were well on their way to becoming fast friends. The two had returned to the table they had shared prior to the brawl with Loghain’s men, animatedly talking in Orlesian over a bowl of fruits and ale. Eliza had been sharing tales of her adventures as a raider, without revealing whom she was prior to becoming a Grey Warden.

In the end, she introduced the red-haired sister to their growing merry band of adventurers.

“This is Leliana,” Eliza began. “She’ll be joining us.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hello 2020~


End file.
